


The Bridge of the Gauntlet

by astudyinpanda



Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 14:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astudyinpanda/pseuds/astudyinpanda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Trooper class mission spoiler from Jorgan's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bridge of the Gauntlet

Even before Aric Jorgan slammed into the Gauntlet's bridge console behind him, the stench of melting fibermesh told him how bad he was hit. Then his gut lit on fire and the edge of the console cracked beneath his armor.

His shield flickered out when his knees struck the deck. The world still looked hazy red. The bridge crew sounded like they were firing through water. One shot scorched his hip, loosing the ragged scream that hadn't found its way past the first blaze. Another blast glanced off his vambrace in a sickening orange flash. The console took direct hits, spewing sparks and the acrid smoke of scorched electronics.

"I need a medpack." He meant to shout. It came out like he was chatting with Forex back in the cantina.

The massive M1-4X Advanced War Droid kept blasting away at the Imps. That was good. The two of them wouldn't get out otherwise, and the sergeant had ordered them to fall back. But he couldn't follow her order on his knees.

He also couldn't fire his assault cannon. Just lifting the heavy weapon hurt. Shouldering it required an awkward shove that pulled burned muscles taut. He drew his sidearm and panted through the worst of the pain.

 _Get up. Get UP._ He lurched forward. Miracle of miracles, his boots were under him when he landed. Two of the bridge crew were lining up shots at him. He plugged them both in their hairless faces. But consoles were everywhere. The bridge was too wide for two soldiers to cover all of it.

Forex's head swivelled toward him, probably looking for a new threat since his ally wielded a much bigger gun. "You're injured, sir!" The droid announced unnecessarily. "Stay behind me."

Jorgan wasn't planning on leading a charge. His legs shook with the effort of supporting a hundred pounds of gear while his organs cooked inside his armor. He shouldn't have thought about it. The agony in his hip flared. He fell against Forex's curved back, holding himself up with one arm while he exchanged fire with the Imps.

 _Bastards! We're leaving, and they're_ still _shooting at us!_ That lacked something in the logic department, but anger kept him moving. These damned Imperials were trying to stop him from following the sergeant's order. He would not let her down.

His claws clicked against his belt as he sought a way to clear the enemy from the bridge door. There were five of them. His grenade hissed as he pulled the pin. He put everything he had, and that wasn't much, behind his pitch. The weapon kept hissing as it sailed over Forex's shoulder and into the crowd at the door.

The droid, unbothered by shrapnel and shockwaves, plowed on toward the door until he was in range to grab an Imp with his cable. He showered the rest in plasma. Jorgan stumbled behind, every step a torment.

 _She said she'd meet us._ He could practically see her: expression professionally inscrutable, arms crossed over her chest, leaning back like she'd wait all day if she had to, but no one could make her _enjoy_ it.

And that shifty pyro with the detonator was waiting, too, or he'd better be. What if his meager patience ran out? He'd blow the whole ship to Hell, and he might not make sure the sergeant was clear of the blast zone. Jorgan would never forgive himself in the afterlife if the sergeant died waiting for him.

Pain burned away everything else. His helmet and chest slammed into gray tile. Resisting his body's instinct to curl over the agony, he fought to rise. The last Imp in front of the door screamed and joined him on the deck.

"I'd like to help you, sir, but I'm not built for lifting." Forex clattered back and forth in tiny steps for such a huge droid. "The Imperial scumbags will regroup if we give them time. For the Republic!"

Jorgan forced himself to his hands and knees, tried to stand, fell back. He couldn't do it. Not for the Republic.

For _her_.

For her, he'd crawl out of there. And, inch by arduous inch, he did. He didn't haul himself off the bridge under fire and burning to follow an order. He followed _her_.

He saw her standing in the corridor beyond the bridge, for a second. But this soldier had a slighter build and airborne droids shooting green goo at him. "This way!" Dorne shouted.

The goo numbed him a little. The floor was still trying to smack him in the face. The medic rolled him onto his back, then crossed his arms over his chest and dragged him away from the bridge, toward where Yoon stood guard at an intersecting hallway. The first tug tore something inside him. Jorgan's cry disappeared beneath Forex's blaster fire holding back what remained of the Gauntlet's bridge crew. None survived to follow Havoc Squad.

The sergeant was still waiting. He just had to hang on. _I'd die for the Republic_ \-- and he'd have laughed, if breathing didn't hurt so damned much -- _but for her, I'll live._


End file.
